


Bad (Two) Touch Outtake

by katwalking



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Age Difference, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 14:10:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15245088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katwalking/pseuds/katwalking
Summary: Aaron's injured. Megan's used to taking care of injured hockey players.





	Bad (Two) Touch Outtake

**Author's Note:**

> This is an outtake to a much larger unpublished Megan/Aaron/Willie fic. A WIP for many years, obviously. Willie is retired now, for heaven's sake.

The weight of Aaron’s head in Megan’s lap is familiar. As familiar as the slightly pained, disgruntled look on his face. She’s held Willie this way a thousand times. Aaron’s hair is thick, soft to the touch and he turns his face into her stomach when she plays with it. “Is it time for another pain pill?”

“No,” Aaron grumbles into her shirt and he's pressed close enough for her to feel the warmth of his breath. She inhales carefully.

Aaron’s been moping around the house since Willie (and the team) left on a short road trip. Aaron’s hadn’t been cleared for the trip, trapped at home because the team doctors felt like his busted ankle could use a few more days. 

Megan scratches lightly at his scalp and he pushes up into her touch. Truthfully, she's still a little hesitant touching him like this without Willie in the house. “What do you want to eat, sweetheart?”

“I don't know,” Aaron says, petulant, and Megan sighs. 

“What would make you feel better, Aaron?” She keeps playing with his hair while he thinks. There’s oven roasted turkey breasts in the refrigerator and avocados. She could make a quick sandwich, maybe a little side salad. 

Aaron rolls over onto his back and looks up at her through his thick eyelashes. “Kiss it better?” The tops of his cheeks are pink. He's so young. 

Surely, Willie wouldn’t mind a kiss or two for medicinal purposes. She kisses him lightly on the lips, no tongue and Aaron lifts his head to chase her mouth. 

“Megan,” Aaron says, huffs when she grins. 

Maybe making out on the couch for will take Aaron’s mind off his troubles. She kisses him again, obligingly parting her lips to let him slip her some tongue. Aaron kisses well, has probably spent hours rolling around in some star struck girl’s bed. Convincing her to let him put his hands up her shirt, down her pants. Megan thinks about the stories Willie has told her about Juniors. Maybe Aaron perfected his skills elsewhere, kissing in the back of the bus on the long rides to away games, boys exploring their burgeoning sexualities with friends and teammates. 

“You kiss a lot of girls like this?” she asks Aaron in between kisses. She cups the sharp jut of his jaw in her hand and runs the tip of her tongue along the roof of his mouth. He jerks at the sensation and she’s suddenly filled with dissatisfaction with the awkwardness of their position. “Let’s,” she says and rearranges them until she’s sprawled against Aaron’s chest and between his legs. 

Aaron slides his hands into her hair. He has one knee bent against the back of the couch and one foot planted on the floor. 

They make out until Megan’s mouth is aching and she can feel the hard length of Aaron’s dick against her thigh. He’s pressing upwards, little abortive thrusts, seeking friction. 

“You feel better, sweetie?” Megan pulls back enough to ask. 

“No,” Aaron says, breathless. He shifts under her, uncomfortable, hands low on her waist. 

“Well,” Megan says, bracingly, “you’ll probably feel better with some food in your system.” She levers herself up off the couch, trying not to laugh at the outraged looked Aaron’s giving her. 

Aaron climbs off the couch after her. Megan takes a moment to appreciate his hard dick through the sweatpants he's wearing. “I'm just going to--” Aaron points upstairs towards his room. 

“Of course, sweetheart,” Megan says and pats him on the ass. 

“Fuck,” Aaron mutters under his breath and limps off up the stairs.


End file.
